


willow

by g_minor_mozart (orphan_account)



Series: evermore [3]
Category: evermore - Taylor Swift (Album)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Renaissance Era, Renaissance Faires, Song: willow (Taylor Swift)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/g_minor_mozart
Summary: maybe it's just because of the music video, but this song always makes me think about a girl trapped in a fantasy life she's built for herself and her boyfriend. it's the instrumentals and the overall vibe i think, not the lyrics. and it's not necessarily in the renaissance era, but i kind of took the line "mythical thing" and ran with it.
Series: evermore [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062710
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	willow

the renaissance faire’s in town, 

and we scrape together the ten dollar entrance fee,

guitar music and over there’s a camera obscura--

we pose in the dark room and look at the projection of ourselves, 

> upside down with our feet in the sky.

we’re a mythical thing,

dragons and deep purple and puppeteers, 

the renaissance swirling around us. 

you’ll guide the horse and i’ll carry your suitcases all full of wine bottles and royal attire,

and when we reach the castle you bow and motion for a servant,

who will take the bags off my hands and lead us to the courtyard,

where we’ll change into velvet robes and drink champagne and bask in each other’s presence,

and watch the lavish iron gates open and close as people come and go, 

> simply for the pleasure of admiring the king and queen.

we won’t have to go inside unless we want to, 

and the courtyard overlooking the cliffs is a perfectly suitable place for dinner,

which of course is prepared by our personal chef who’s more familiar with our palates than our personalities,

and we eat off of gold-rimmed plates and watch the gardener trim the bushes with the precision of a tailor hemming a dress until the sun sets.

our dressing gowns are silk and embroidered with crimson flowers, and we open the windows in the bedroom to breathe the night air,

the band in the ballroom still playing softly and our wealth practically spilling through the walls of the castle,

and i remember 

> my feet are planted on the floor inside the camera obscura,

and we’re just peasants living in the crawl space in the attic.

  
  



End file.
